As Sunday rolls around, Devin has the least interest in getting out of bed. He sees no point in it; it's off-day for him at The Brewery, Cerise is grounded so he cannot make any plans with her. There's nothing to do. Well, he can do his homework, or do his laundry, or restock on groceries - come to think of it, there's a lot of chores that need to be done around the house since Ray is being a fucking cunt and a sloth. Only trouble; Devin feels no drive, no motivation to deal with anything.

Ultimately, he grabs his phone from the nightstand and opens his messages. The last text is from Cerise's number, reading "Goodnight" from when they had chatted briefly yesterday evening. He shoots her a text asking if she's awake yet and what her plans for today are.

Then, with the utmost difficulty, he finds it in himself to get out of bed and start the day. Devin begins with cleaning his room first, then straightens and tidies up the rest of the dilapidated house as best as he can. The sporadic exchanging of texts with Cerise make it all bearable. Later, he goes grocery shopping at Matheson's, every aisle making him wonder which products were stacked and arranged by her - there is an absurd sense of comfort in these thoughts.

Somehow, Sunday burns by using all of Devin's patience as fuel. He reaches school on Monday expecting to see Cerise, until her absence opens a void in him and his spirits sink like rocks in water. He tries to replace his sunken spirits with the chemical spirit in his beer canister, but to no avail. It has become painful, this unending separation from Cerise. With three more sickening periods left until school goes out, Devin packs his canister, hauls up his backpack, and grinds his teeth to soldier through the rest of the day.

After school, instead of heading home, he takes the route to Cerise's place. And five minutes later, he is strolling around her neighborhood, speculating if the absence of vehicles in the driveway means that he is on the clear to go meet Cerise. A long while of deliberating and worrying, Devin is thankfully able to come up with an ingenuous action plan.

He will go to that house, knock on the door, and if either of her parents answer, he will play the partner assigned to Cerise for a Chemistry project who's only here to deliver notes and her end of the assignment.

Yes. That's a good lie. Resolve cemented, Devin finally knocks on the eggshell-white door. Moments later, it opens to reveal Cerise. Dressed in pajama bottoms and a sweater that's two sizes too large, hair piled on top of her head in a bun, bags under her eyes - she still takes his breath away.

"Devin," she intones, clearly startled. "What... what are you doing here?"

Devin doesn't miss the furtive glance she casts around beyond the porch. He was so focused on preparing for his encounter with Jennifer or Christian that he forgot to think of an excuse to explain his unannounced appearance at her doorstep to her. "Uh," he falters, "hey..."

"Hey," Cerise responds.

Before the situation becomes awkward, Devin slings forward his bag and takes out his notebooks. Handing them to her, he says, "I just dropped by to give you some notes."

"Oh..." There's a hint of disappointment in her voice, but he may have imagined it. "Thanks."

"Yeah..." he mumbles. Feeling like he has drawn out the syllable for too long, he adds, "well, mid-terms are coming up. You really don't wanna lag behind the syllabus."

"Thanks. This is so very considerate of you." Cerise beams at him; Devin's heartbeat has an odd hiccup.

He shrugs, raking a hand through his hair. "Yeah, no biggie. That's what friends are for." As the quietude weighs down on them, and Cerise looks about her neighborhood again, Devin decides not to make things any more uncomfortable and take his leave. "Okay, then," he says, pivoting on his heel. The purpose of his visit is fulfilled - Cerise is healthy and unharmed.

As he scales the porch steps, however, her voice rings out from behind, "hey, Devin?"

He nearly gives himself a whiplash by how fast he turns around. "Yeah?"

"If you're not too busy, do you think you could help me catch up with the Calculus covered in school?" Her shy fretting makes Devin want to scoop her into a hug. "And then we could also cover a bit of the exam syllabus after," she continues, "but only if you're not busy."

Ecstatic, and without missing a beat, Devin says, "sure, of course." But when he's just about to enter the beautiful Edwardian, an unpleasant thought creeps into his exuberance and he pauses liminally at the threshold. "Won't you get in trouble? If... if Horseface shows up?"

"We'll go up to my room," Cerise tells him, coy, her gaze skittish and glittering. "You can hide in my closet should she come. She won't find out."

"Well..." Devin puts up an act of thinking about it. "Sounds like an adventure..."

With a huff, Cerise grabs a hold of his arm, proceeding to pull him inside. With one last shufti outside, she locks the door and takes his hand again to drag him past the hall and up the stairs. "Come," she says, more a command than a request. In her room, she locks the door again and turns to him. "So, should we start with Calculus? Or do you wanna do World History?"

As she goes to a rack and shifts through some books, Devin watches her. The littlest movements of her willowy muscles are enough to satiate the profound nostalgia he had been dealing so badly with. "World History," he answers a few seconds too late when she whirls to look at him questioningly. "I think we've ignored it a lot between our tuitions of Calculus and Literature."

Nodding in agreement, Cerise slots out the required study materials. "World History, it is." When she settles down on her bed, she addresses Devin once more, "you know, you can stop lingering by the door and come join me..."

"Join you in bed?" Devin queries, simpering playfulness infused in his tone.

A pencil comes flying at him, which he dodges, snickering as Cerise lambastes, "focus, Devin! World History."

"That's what I was saying," he defensively quips, "join you in bed to study. What did you think?"

"Nothing," she mutters. Her embarrassment is unmistakable, much to Devin's juvenile sense of enjoyment.

While they study - taking turns in jotting down important points, making quiz cards for last minute revision, working on the mock tests that the teacher had doled out - hours go by and they only realize that when Cerise's phone buzzes. When she unlocks the device, Devin notices that it is a text message from Jennifer. He takes that as his cue to leave.

"I guess that's enough for today," he intimates, swinging his legs over the bed and sliding on his shoes.

"You're leaving?" Cerise lifts her head from typing a reply, surprised.

"We've been studying a long time and I'm tired."

"Oh." She sounds crestfallen.

"I'll come by tomorrow, after work. If that's alright with you?"

"Okay."

After lacing up his shoes, Devin stands and hefts his backpack over his left shoulder. "You gonna come down and lock up after me?" he asks, just so he can have her in proximity for a few more minutes - a puerile desire, a strong one nonetheless.

"Yeah, coming," she answers while quickly gathering the spread out papers and books into a stack.

The two descend the stairs in silence. Out on the porch, Devin pauses. She stands against the doorjamb, and he studies her, takes in everything about her. Directed by a primal intuition, he leans forward and drops a flutter of a kiss on her cheekbone - a ghosting touch of his needy lips. The tantalizing fragrance of her cocoons him, pervades all his senses, and it physically hurts him to pull away. His throat strains and his voice sounds peculiar when he croaks, "I'll see you tomorrow, Cherry. Okay?"

"Yeah." Blinking, she breaks eye-contact with him.

There's something heavy and static in the air, something that makes it hard for him breathe. Something that awakens in him the need to push Cerise Miller back into the house, pin her against a wall and kiss her lips, and her jaw, her neck, and her lips again; undo her bun and bury his fingers in her silken hair.

This temptation will be the death of him. But, he will take death any day over crossing a line and losing Cerise. He subdues the thoughts and turns away from her.

***

\\warning: light smut\\

The impulse that guides her movements is potent, rooted in every little cell of hers that still quivers from the jolt that Devin's kiss had sent through her. Her hand moves forward, fingers closing around his wrist, Cerise pulls him back.

"Devin..." His name susurrates past her lips, under her trapped breath.

"Yeah?"

Swallowing, she says, "Jennifer's staying at Portland overnight. And since I'd already cooked for two, I'd really like if you stayed for dinner." Devin looks uncertain, so she implores, "I insist."

Seeming ever so fickle that it worries Cerise, he gives in to her request - much to her joy. "I'd love to."

With her heart performing a flippant little dance, Cerise steps aside to let him in. After locking the door when she faces him again, her breath hitches unceremoniously. The mess of his brunet hair, the shadows of all the sleepless nights circling his bejeweled, electric eyes, darkness gathering in shallow pools under his cheekbones - they are all threads that rope her to him. The threads are tensile, tugging at her, and she obliges by invading the distance between them. Her hand moves up to the strap of his backpack, and at the gentlest pull, he complies, dropping the bag. Cerise draws his hand to her, letting it hover over her waist. And all the while, her eyes never leave his.

"Cherry," he murmurs, his shivering exhalation spiders across her moue. That burning blue gaze of his flits to her mouth for a split second, before returning to match her stare.

So close, she thinks, inveigled by the proximity to cull the remaining distance that separates them. An ineffable courage incites her; she raises herself on her tiptoes and her lips touch his in a feathery bisou. Drawing back, she registers that she has been holding her breath in apprehension; that Devin's hand has tightened on her hip, bunching her sweater in his fist; that both their respiration is unsteady. There's a storm in the oceans of his eyes - tenebrous clouds of desire, pierced with impassioned lightning.

"Jesus Christ, Cherry," he utters in a shaky whisper, "what are you doing to me?"

Tightening her grip on his elbow, Cerise lets her other hand make its way up to his chin, to his exquisite mouth. His jaw clenches visibly. She moves closer to his face again, her lips claim the corner of his inviting pout, and she whispers back, "what am I doing to you?"

In a flash, his arms encircle her and pull her flush against him. Feeling his possessive touch splay over the small of her back, the position cojoining their hips, she relishes his bodily entrapment. His face nears hers, and she tilts her chin up to meet him in another kiss, however, his lips brush past her cheek, then move to her ear. His teeth graze the shell of her ear; a gasp tears free of her. Body humming with a perfervid hunger, she headily hears him confess, "you're killing me. Christ, you're fucking killing me."

A light tingle alights in Cerise's earlobe as Devin's tongue snakes over it. She barely holds back a mewl when he suddenly nips at the soft flesh.

"Devin..." Her voice comes out more a short, sharp inhalation - threaded through with a strangled moan.

His lips land on the spot behind her earlobe, he kisses her there, making her pulse quicken to a gallop. He continues to move further down her neck. With a trembling sigh, Cerise throws back her head, exposing her throat as she arches into his embrace, accepting his heated kisses. Her skin sears when his tongue swirls into the hollow betwixt her collarbones. His cold hands drift under her shirt, sending delicious sparks simmering to her core.

"Please tell me to stop..." Devin pleads, whispering the words into her skin like a prayer.

"I don't want you to stop," Cerise rasps in a breathless whimper, causing his mouth's exploration of her to distressingly pause where her jugular throbs - frantic, erratic. Holding on to his broad shoulders for dear life, she begs, "please. Please don't stop--"

Her demand breaks off in a husky moan when Devin sinks his teeth into the curve of her neck. Another soft yet spirited moan erupts from her, receptive of his hands straying up her sides, feeling him run the pads of his thumbs over her ribs, tentatively stroking the undersides of her breasts.

Cerise doesn't know what nurtures her yearning for him into such a strong urge, but she knows she wants more. So much more. She will readily surrender herself to the swinging cordage of lust, to obey its pull into a sea of ruin - if it means drowning with Devin Jameston. Near unquenchable thirst ignites her essence and she brings his face up with her hands holding either sides of his chiseled jaw. His stubble prickles the skin of her palms. Exigently, her mouth assails his, drawing his lower lip in between her teeth, running her tongue over its chapped, luscious swell. His response is just as rough and hard, forceful and vehement. Leaving her hands to roam free, her zealous fingers trifle against the zipper of his hoodie.

Devin steps back, only to fervently get rid of his hoodie, then his t-shirt. By then, Cerise has pulled off her inconvenience of a sweater and thrown it aside.

They reach for each other again; he pushes her up against the front door. Her lips latch into the crook of his neck, tasting the salt on his skin, while he works on the buttons of her shirt. Her fingers rove over his abdomen, tracing every ridge, every plane, trying to commit to memory the topography of his lean physique. She dips her thumb into his navel, she nips at his shoulder, and it elicits a groan, an evident shiver from him. With a low growl, he pins her wrists on either side of her head, leaving her to writhe as his open-mouthed kisses wander lower. Then his tongue swipes over her right nipple, and she helplessly melts in his arms.

Between pants, Cerise chokes out a single word, "kitchen."

Devin's tortuous ministrations continue unfazed even as his hands let go of her wrists to embed into the flesh of her thighs in a bruising grip and hike her up. Instinctively, Cerise wraps her legs around his hips, her ankles clasp at the small of his back, her nails dig into his shoulder blades. They stumble unsteadily through their lust-perfused haze towards the kitchen.

The dinner for two is forgotten, nevertheless, unarticulated yet invaluable promises are made, arduous cacoethes are freed.

***